


A Bit of Fluff

by spectre_tabris



Series: Canon(ish) Cassandra/Kyra One-Shots [4]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-19
Updated: 2017-06-19
Packaged: 2018-11-15 22:58:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11241051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spectre_tabris/pseuds/spectre_tabris
Summary: Cassandra finds herself with some unexpected company on a quiet afternoon in Skyhold.





	A Bit of Fluff

**Author's Note:**

> Look I don't even know okay. I just needed to cheer myself up after filling out approximately a million job applications. I regret nothing.

Cassandra is tucked away in a hidden alcove of the Skyhold garden, taking advantage of a rare moment of peace and quiet to re-read the latest chapter of _Swords and Shields_ when she is interrupted by the sudden appearance of a kitten hopping up onto the bench beside her. She sets her book beside her in order to take a better look at the animal - while cats are far from uncommon in the fortress, rarely do any approach her with the sort of brazen confidence this one shows as it noses at her.

Closer inspection reveals it to be not a kitten at all but rather a fully grown, if oddly small, cat. Its fur is a solid, unremarkable shade of dark brown save for a single white sock on its left foreleg and it stares up at Cassandra with the greenest eyes of any animal she has ever seen. Were it not for the lack of any sort of collar or ribbon around its neck Cassandra would have thought it a pet of one of the visiting nobles - it looks too neat and well-fed to be one of Skyhold’s many ratcatchers- but regardless she sees no harm in letting it stay. If it does have an owner, they are nowhere near, the garden empty save for Cassandra and her new companion.

Once it seems satisfied that she is not going to chase it off, the cat sets about exploring its surroundings (namely Cassandra) with admirable vigor. Its pink nose twitches as it sniffs at her, making its way from her hands up onto her shoulder to stick its face in her hair and paw at her braid.

“Stop that,” Cassandra orders as she reaches up to scoop the animal off her shoulder. Its fur is soft, she notes, and when her fingers close around its middle she can feel it start to purr, a low rumble strong enough that she can feel its entire body shake against her palm. She drops it into her lap, well out of reach of her hair, only for it to mewl plaintively as she tries to pull her hand away. When she frowns down at it she sees it has rolled onto its back and is reaching for her fingers with tiny mismatched paws, tilting its head up to blink too-large, too-bright eyes at her. All in all, it is infuriatingly adorable.

They stare at each other for a long moment, Seeker and cat locked into a silent battle of wills that Cassandra is horrified to find herself losing. She gives the cat a glare that seems to phase it not at all - this two pound ball of fluff is braver than most people Cassandra has met - but relents, reaching down to stroke her fingers through the downy fur of the cat’s exposed stomach. Its delighted purrs rumble through the alcove and it wriggles in her lap for a moment before it seems to find a comfortable position and settles down with a massive yawn. Cassandra watches in mild amusement as to all appearances it goes straight to sleep, the only sign that it is still somewhat conscious the petulant whines it gives any time she tries to stop petting it.

Picking up her book once more she uses her free hand to open it where she left off. Before she loses herself in the story, she spares one last stern glare at the oblivious cat.

“Not a word to anyone,” she warns. The only response is a happy purr, which Cassandra chooses to take as agreement.

 

 

She does not know just how much time passes like that, Cassandra buried in her book with a near-comatose cat curled up on her lap, but the sun is starting to set and she has reached the last few pages of the story before anything disturbs her.

It is the cat who gives her the first idea that she is no longer alone. Its ears twitch once and before Cassandra can even begin to react it has leapt to its feet and abandoned its perch on her lap to disappear beneath the bench. As Cassandra blinks in surprise at the sudden movement and she glances down to where the cat had vanished, she hears what must have chased it away - the sound of soft footsteps approaching the alcove. The source of the footsteps appears and when she sees Leliana standing there Cassandra realizes that the noise was a courtesy only. The spymaster is perfectly capable of moving without a sound, an ability that more than once has caused Cassandra more grief than she cares to admit.

“Did you need something, Leliana?” Cassandra asks as Leliana glances around the alcove with a frown. She looks disappointed, though Cassandra cannot begin to guess why.

“Have you seen the Inquisitor recently?”

Now it is Cassandra’s turn to frown as she considers the question. The answer comes as something of a surprise.

“I have not.” Not since they had parted ways early that morning, which is unusual. Cassandra cannot recall the last time she made it through a day without seeing Kyra at least once or twice, even if just in passing, a few minutes stolen from their busy schedules. And Cassandra had been so preoccupied with her book that she had not even realized. “Is something wrong?”

Leliana shakes her head, dispelling the concern that had started to grow within Cassandra. “Morrigan was looking for her.”

At the sound of the witch’s name Cassandra’s worry returns in full force. She does not trust that woman, regardless of what Kyra says. There is something strange about her, something that sets every one of Cassandra’s nerves on edge.

“Why?”

Leliana purses her lips and Cassandra has known her long enough to be able to read the irritation there. “Apparently,” she says in the clipped tone she only ever uses when she feels someone is being particularly stupid (and Cassandra spares a moment to be thankful that it is directed at someone else this time, rather than at something she has done, before she focuses again on what Leliana is saying), “they were ‘discussing magical techniques’ and the Inquisitor vanished.”

“Define ‘vanished’,” Cassandra snaps. When dealing with magic, she has learned not to assume anything.

“According to Morrigan she ran off and is nowhere to be found.”

So not literal invisibility, then, which does make Cassandra feel somewhat better.

“Is there a true reason for concern?” she asks. “You know the Inquisitor - it is quite possible that she just needed some time to herself.” Though even as she says it she finds herself running through her mental list of Kyra’s favorite hiding places. While it is true that Kyra has been known to tuck herself away in some empty corner of Skyhold when the stress of her position threatens to overwhelm her, rarely does she do so without letting Cassandra know where to find her.

“Morrigan seems to think so, though all she would say on the matter is that she ‘fears some predator might snatch her up - the Inquisitor is not herself’.”

That particular phrasing catches Cassandra’s attention and she fixes Leliana with a narrow-eyed glare.

“Morrigan is a shapeshifter,” she points out, a weary comprehension welling within her. If she is right, she is going to strangle that woman. Leliana nods.

“Yes, that was my thought as well, though as usual Morrigan was less than forthcoming. I would be on the lookout for any animals that seem...odd. I have my doubts that their ‘discussion’ remained purely theoretical.

Cassandra is certain it did not, though she sees no reason to share her thoughts with Leliana. If Cassandra is correct, then Leliana will figure it out for herself sooner or later. If she is not...Cassandra does not believe that to be likely.

As soon as Leliana has said her farewells and disappeared out into the rest of Skyhold, presumably to continue her search for their missing leader, Cassandra leans forward and reaches beneath the bench toward the cat she knows to be lurking there. Her fingers brush fur and before the cat can attempt to flee she grabs it by the scruff and drags it out of hiding. When she holds it up at eye level, its paws dangling in the air, it gives her the most sheepish expression she has ever seen on a cat. Any doubts Cassandra may have had about her captive’s identity vanish with that single, too-familiar look.

“Change back,” she orders, her tone leaving no room for argument. “Now.”

The cat gives a grumbling sort of protest but Cassandra can feel the air around them warp and shift, the sharp scent of magic filling the alcove as the cat’s body almost seems to ripple. In only a few seconds the cat has vanished and in its place is an elven woman, kneeling on the ground with her face aflame and unable to meet Cassandra’s eyes.

Cassandra presses her fingers to her temple with a groan; she can already feel the first spikes of pain as a headache builds behind her eyes.

“Explain.”

On the ground, Kyra Lavellan, leader of the Inquisition, Herald of Andraste, and apparently part-time cat, shrugs before rising to her feet and brushing dirt and what appears to be cat hair from her pants.

“I talked Morrigan into teaching me shapeshifting,” she mumbles, gaze on the floor, the wall, anywhere but on Cassandra. “It worked and I came over to tell you and then I...didn’t.”

Cassandra sighs. She does not know why Kyra is being difficult about this, why she is avoiding what should be a fairly straightforward answer to her question, and it is beginning to aggravate her.

“Inquisitor,” she snaps and the use of her title seems to cut through Kyra’s anxiety or guilt or _whatever_ it is she is fighting.. She meets Cassandra’s eyes for the first time since she regained her normal form and Cassandra is startled by the embarrassment she sees there.

“Okay so yes I was totally coming over here to show off a little and I swear I was going to tell you that it was me right away except I didn’t realize that apparently you’re a cat person and you were being adorable and I figured maybe I could stay like that for a little longer and then I got distracted - did you know cats have a really good sense of smell? Because they do and you smelled really good and I was trying to figure out what you smelled like because it seemed familiar - I mean, obviously, because it’s you, but even beyond that - and then you were petting me and I sort of forgot that I was supposed to be changing back and I’m so sorry it just felt really nice, like when you play with my hair? Except -”

Cassandra suspects that Kyra would continue to babble until Cassandra stopped her, nerves and her own awkwardness removing her ability to shut herself up. With every word out of Kyra’s mouth Cassandra feels her annoyance evaporate, replaced with a fond resignation that is becoming more and more familiar the longer she knows Kyra. The bulk of her irritation had come from the fact that Kyra hadn’t bothered to identify herself, the deception sitting poorly in her stomach. But with Kyra standing there in front of her, earnest and apologetic and looking so much less stressed than she has in weeks, it is difficult to hold onto that feeling. Instead of trying to interrogate Kyra further, she rises to her feet with a sigh, stopping Kyra’s rambling mid-sentence. She crosses the distance between them in a single step and leans down to press a gentle kiss to the distressed pout of Kyra’s mouth, hands sliding back to cradle the base of her skull. As she pulls away she sees Kyra staring at her with wide, startled eyes.

“Stop talking,” she says, too soft to contain the intended degree of command, and Kyra’s mouth curls into a pleased smile.

“Only if you promise to do that again.”

Cassandra shakes her head with a noise of disgust that she suspects is not as convincing as she might have wished. Instead of reacting to Kyra’s words, she asks, “Do you have any duties to attend to this evening?” She doubts that is the case - for all of Kyra’s flaws, Cassandra has never known her to hide from her responsibilities. If she had Inquisition business to take care of, she would not have spent the better part of the afternoon as a cat.

Kyra shakes her head, the movement dislodging Cassandra’s hand from her hair.

“Nothing pressing, at least not until Leliana’s scouts report in. And Cullen knows how to find me if that changes.

“Cullen?” For all that the two of them get along well, the commander is not usually Kyra’s first choice of confidante.

Kyra just shrugs. “Someone needs to be able to get ahold of me if something does come up, and of my advisors he is the least likely to track me down for anything short of an actual emergency.”

Cassandra is forced to concede the point - as someone who shares Kyra’s dislike of politics and the games of nobility, Cullen is more likely than the politically-minded Leliana and Josephine to appreciate the need to escape, if only for a few hours. And so long as Kyra’s advisors have a means to reach her if necessary, Cassandra sees no reason not to indulge her desire for a break, not with as stressed as Cassandra knows she has been since their return from Halamshiral. Instead of sending her to the still-searching Leliana, Cassandra takes Kyra by the hand and leads her over to the abandoned bench. It is the work of moments for them to arrange themselves and though the bench is slightly too small to fit two grown women neither of them seems to mind. Cassandra sits with her back against the arm rail, long legs stretched out in front of her, while Kyra curls up between the back of the bench and Cassandra’s side, head resting on Cassandra’s shoulder and arm draped across her stomach, holding her close. With one hand Cassandra picks up her discarded book and she slides the other into Kyra’s hair, fingertips rubbing soothing circles into her scalp. Kyra’s eyes flutter closed and just as Cassandra finds the scene where she had stopped before, she hears a quiet hum of contentment from the woman dozing on top of her.

“Read to me?” Kyra mumbles, the words almost lost in the fabric of Cassandra’s shirt. Cassandra hides a fond smile in Kyra’s hair and picks up where she had left off.

“At this late hour, the Chantry was lit only by the Eternal Flame at Andraste’s feet...”


End file.
